


Still Waters Run

by Footloose



Series: Blue Night Drabbles [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's having a Hell of a time, and all he wants is five minutes of peace and quiet to catch his breath.  Arthur doesn't mean to let him have those five minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Short Version

**Author's Note:**

> I need a spot to post all my random snippets that don't belong anywhere else, and the lucky first entry is my [Challenge #1](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/78471.html) [photo prompt](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/77350.html) [Summerpornathon](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/) submission.
> 
> Chapter One is the original 500-750 word entry, while Chapter Two is what would have been posted if there hadn't been a silly word count limit in the way.
> 
> * * *

* * *

Jesus fucking hell. What a day. What a week. What a fucking _month_.

A camping trip as a last hurrah before they sold their souls to the corporate cog had been such a brilliant idea, but here Merlin was, _suffering_.

His balls were swollen and blue. His cock -- _fuck_. His cock had been at half-mast ever since they arrived at this butt-fuck no-cell-reception zone of God's nowhere.

It was a gorgeous location, with rolling hills and snow-capped mountains and rippling lake waters and morning mist and the purple glow of false dawns, but it was all the pretty boys who were doing him in. _God._

They had no idea. _No idea._ It was some sort of orchestrated plan to see who could make Merlin's balls explode.

Merlin stuck his fag in his mouth and squeezed the base of his cock to keep himself from coming too quick. He exhaled a swirling line of grey smoke. His head rolled back and struck the tree trunk with a dull thump. 

There was a splash and a startled, "Who's there?"

_Fuck_ if Merlin's cock didn't get harder, because that was Arthur's voice. Merlin craned his neck and looked through the trees. Arthur was out of the water naked as the day he was born, looking around. His arms, his legs, his arse --

_Fuckety fuck fuck fuck_. 

"I know it's you, Merlin. You're the only one who smokes," Arthur said. "Stop being a fucking voyeur."

Merlin took a steadying drag and exhaled out in a defiant cloud of smoke. "Fuck off, you goddamn wanker. Can't a man toss himself off in peace? "

"Come out, Merlin," Arthur said. Merlin peered around the tree trunk and did a double-take. Was that Arthur, stroking himself?

" _Now_ , Merlin," Arthur barked.

Merlin walked out of the woods, cock bobbing. He pinched his cigarette and threw it aside. "Well?"

"Get on your knees," Arthur said. He pointed at a towel near a fallen log.

"What?"

"It's not a wank that you need. It's a good hard fuck," Arthur said. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

Arthur's body was outlined in the early-morning dawn, his cock hard and slick, weeping cum in his strong hand. Merlin's knees went weak at the sight of him. "God, yes."

Merlin scrambled onto his knees, balanced on one arm, and stroked himself a few times in anticipation. He looked over his shoulder and jerked when he felt a slap on his arse.

"Don't. You're not going to come until I tell you, or you're not going to come at all," Arthur said, his voice dangerously low. 

Merlin whimpered. Stopping himself was the worst torture _ever_ , but he was rewarded with Arthur's tongue soaking his hole, Arthur's fingers working him open, Arthur's cock against his entrance and enough spit to make it slide, but not enough slick to ease the burn.

There was just enough time to get used to Arthur's cock in him before Arthur pulled out all the way and thrust all the way back in. Hard.

Merlin grabbed the fallen log for support, his fingernails scratching into the damp wood deep enough to leave marks. There was no apology from Arthur, no pause to check to see if he was okay, and that was _perfect_ because Merlin didn't want one. Didn't need one. Arthur was right. All he needed was a good, hard fuck.

The towel did nothing to protect Merlin's knees from the stony beach. The log barely braced Merlin against the flesh-slapping thrusts. His cock bobbed with every one of Arthur's direct hits on his prostate.

"Nn.. Nnrg... Ar... Arthur... I... I'm gonna --"

"Not yet," Arthur ordered.

"F.. _Fuck_." Merlin tried to think of something to distract him. The sting of the cuts and scrapes on his arms and knees. The rising sun over the horizon. Their friends in the cabin _over there_ , who could walk out any moment.

It was no use. His sight went white, his hole clenched, his cock jerked and pulsed ropes and ropes of come all over the towel, and he was pretty sure that his moan could be hear clear across the lake.

"Shite." 

Merlin winced when Arthur pulled out. Merlin shivered when he felt Arthur's thighs against his, the pump of come smearing on his arse and the small of his back.

He was done for when Arthur whispered a hoarse, husky, "Damn it, Merlin. I'm going to have to teach you how to obey me, aren't I?"


	2. The Long Version

* * *

Jesus fucking Hell. What a day. What a week. What a fucking _month_.

It started with a careening drift into rough waters and the insane swirling toilet flush of completing his thesis, marking all the undergraduate final exams, cleaning out his lab, finding a suit that _fit_ and didn't make him look any more like the beanpole everyone told him he was, and defending his PhD in front of a post-graduate committee chaired by dour-faced old coots who thought _innovation_ and _progress_ were four-letter words.

It drowned under the onslaught of recruiters _finally_ noticing that he existed and filling his voice mail with appointments for interviews. None of these fucking wankers had even acknowledged his existence when he'd looked for jobs all through uni, because, oh, no, he could survive _just fine_ on Ramen noodles and stale muffins from the coffee shop that kept cutting back his hours and paid out fuck all in hourly wages.

It bobbed to the surface of the frothing whitewater, finally making it out of the current only to be reminded by the sight of everyone packing out of the dorms that he had exactly twenty-four hours to find a new place to live and to move into before the university administrators shut down the mature students building for renovation -- all because some fluffy blonde with a name reeking of old money complained that the pipes rattled at night.

Once the roller coaster came to an abrupt stop, Merlin had clambered onto the proverbial shores on hands and feet, not just kissing but _frenching_ the bloody ground, because if he could have five minutes of peace and quiet to himself where he wasn't subjected to a flatmate fucking the latest bird _du jour_ against paper-thin walls, leaving Merlin to worry that they'd fall through the plaster and land on top of him any minute now, he'd consider it _paradise_.

And it was paradise, but only so far.

The flat wasn't some run-down hovel on the outer rim of town where he'd need to take three trains and walk a few kilometres to get to his new job. It wasn't plagued by cockroaches or infested with fleas or skanky women picked up fuck-knows-where by an absent flatmate and who couldn't take the hint to go-the-fuck-away already. It was aces because he didn't have to deal with the flatmate from Hell anymore.

Unfortunately, in their unholy glory, the powers-that-be had decided to promote Merlin to the purgatory of sharing a flat with _Arthur fucking Pendragon_. The very same Arthur fucking Pendragon who had starred in every single one of Merlin's wank fantasies since they'd crashed into each other outside the coffee shop a year and a half ago.

Gorgeous to look at. Nice enough bloke if one ignored the prat-sized arsehole part. But getting those five minutes of peace and quiet when Arthur fucking Pendragon was around? Not fucking likely. 

At least the walls were thick enough that he didn't have to listen to Pendragon screwing _whatever_ until the _whatever_ emitted noises approximating a squealing pig.

At least Pendragon stored something far more edible than cheap Ramen in his cabinets and sometimes did the shopping, and never, ever, failed to ensure that the alcohol supply in the flat didn't go dry.

At least the only bitching and moaning Pendragon ever did was to nag about the tea and for Merlin to leave his shite in his room instead of all over the flat.

At least _sometimes_ , Pendragon would wander from the bathroom after a shower to his bedroom with his towel slung over his shoulder as if he were in a bloody locker room and not in a fancy London flat that was an exhibitionist's dream, not even having the fucking human decency to cover himself up even a little bit. And, fuck that goddamn pillock for smirking when Merlin finally emerged from his own bedroom after nearly biting through his hand to muffle an orgasm from a furious wank session.

And at least Pendragon was going _away_. At least Merlin would have those five fucking minutes of peace and quiet to wind down before he started his new job, because Pendragon and his footie-cum-uni cohort were leaving for one last blowout weekend some-didn't-care-the-fuck-where.

Merlin thought he'd be able to breathe. Finally.

Then, Pendragon said this:

"One of the boys can't make it. Pack your things, _Mer_ lin. You're not much to look at, but you'll have to do."

There were eight people in the living room, not counting Pendragon, the generous square footage crowded to bursting only because Percival was there, filling up the sofa all by himself, with Elyan wedged in under one arm and Gwaine sitting on the other side. They were all looking at Merlin, Leon and Lance and Kay and two other blokes that Merlin didn't know, and _fuck off_ if Merlin was going to let Pendragon ruin the only five minutes of peace and quiet he had ever gotten in the last year.

"Yeah, no problem, I'll get right on that, and while I'm at it, do you want me to suck your cock too, Pendragon?" Merlin asked, putting his take-away on the posh kitchen table, pulling the bins out. 

There was a long, long silence behind him, the sort where people exchanged wary glances full of words, like _what the fuck did he just say_ and _does he know who he's talking to_ and _screw this wanker, let's just go_. Merlin ignored them at least as long as it took him to crack open a container and inhale blessed food.

"I've got plans, yeah? So piss off. Not like I can afford to go, the way you've been blowing money on gear, which, by the way, I don't have," Merlin said, stabbing at the pineapple chicken with a flimsy plastic fork. Bits of sticky rice that wasn't so sticky went flying everywhere, smearing and smudging Pendragon's precious posh glass kitchen table.

"You've got plans," Pendragon said finally, and there was a dangerous lilt to his tone. "Plans like what? Sitting in the flat all bloody weekend, playing video games in your pants, turning my flat into your personal ashtray?"

"Close, but not close enough. I thought I'd throw a party while daddy's not home, drink all his booze, eat all his food, see how many pulls I can get in, then spend some time wanking all over his expensive ten-billion-thread-count sheets," Merlin said, half-turning around to shoot a glare in Pendragon's direction. "Fuck you too. I've got a life. Just. You know. Get the fuck lost somewhere, why don't you."

Merlin didn't know what the look on Pendragon's face was for or even what it meant, but it was full of dark clouds and thunderstorm. So when he saw Pendragon lift his chin in a faint nod, he knew he was fucked.

And fucked he was. Someone -- Merlin didn't see who -- cleaned off all the containers from the kitchen table and spread it around the room. Leon plucked the plastic fork out of his hand. Arthur crowded into Merlin's space, and it was as if they were suddenly alone, because it had gone so quiet, Merlin could hear the crickets chirping out in fucking _Wales_.

"You've got ten minutes."

"Fucking hell, Pendragon. Piss off, yeah?" Merlin flinched a little when Arthur's heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and he _hated_ it when Pendragon smirked in amusement.

"It's all paid for," Pendragon said, his voice deep and low. "Now get your arse moving. You've got nine minutes."

Merlin crossed his arms. "You're a bloody prat."

Pendragon tilted his head in agreement.

"You've got an odd number of arse-lickers going with you, what do you need me for?"

Pendragon didn't answer him directly. He tightened his fingers on Merlin's shoulders, and said, "You're coming with us, or come Monday, your shite's on the kerb."

And that was how Merlin ended up on a camping trip as a last hurrah before the footie boys sold their souls to the corporate cog. Maybe for them, it had been a brilliant plan to let off some steam away from girlfriends and boyfriends and fiancées and whatever-the-fuck-else, but here Merlin was, _suffering_.

His balls were swollen and blue. His cock -- _fuck_. His cock had been at half-mast ever since they arrived at this butt-fuck no-cell-reception zone of God's nowhere.

It was a gorgeous location, with rolling hills and snow-capped mountains and rippling lake waters and morning mist and the purple glow of false dawns, but it was all the pretty boys who were doing him in. 

_God._

They'd made a few round-trip hikes between the cabin and the all-terrains to unload all the gear and the food and the beer, but as soon as the work was done, it was as if someone pulled the trigger on the starter gun. _All the clothes came off_ and there was a mad dash for the lake, with a lot of glorious naked arse and gorgeous men tackling each other and dragging their prizes under water.

Fucking Hell. There were no words to properly define how tortuously cruel and unfair this was. Merlin hadn't had a proper pull in the last eight months, he was getting really tired of his hand because it hadn't learned any new tricks, and here he was, stuck with a bloody _pantheon of footie Gods_ , and he couldn't touch a single fucking one of them. But he could watch, and watch he did, with the sort of kid-at-an-amusement-park glee mixed with dismay that all of his wank fantasies had turned to horrible reality. His brain cells hadn't merely overloaded, they'd _fried_ , and it had only gone downhill from there.

The clothes eventually made their way back onto their owners, but only long enough to play a footie match with shirts versus skins that was more wrestling than footie. Merlin had never been groped at so many times his _entire_ life, and he might have been a bit concussed from the unexpected foray into American football rules when he was tackled and the others dog-piled on top of him, but he fervently wished that whoever had stuck a hand down Merlin's shorts to expose his cock to all and sundry that they would've had the decency to bring him off, too.

The boys had no idea. _No idea._ Or they did. They were doing it on purpose. It was some sort of orchestrated plan to see who could make Merlin's balls explode. Merlin didn't know, and would never know, because they were all acting like they were each other's fuck buddies and Merlin was some new sex toy they hadn't figured out yet how to use.

Merlin wished they'd hurry up and find the instruction manual, or at least come to the ends of their patience and toss the instruction manual aside to _get on with it already_. At the rate blood -- and possibly brain cells, too -- was filling Merlin's dick, it was bound to gain sentience at some point and drag Merlin around in search of a willing fuck.

Maybe that Gwaine bloke, who was bloody well fit, with long wavy hair and a solid frame, though Merlin would make him shave, first, because he didn't like stubble burn. Or maybe big Percival, who _really was big everywhere_ , but only if Merlin could strap him down and take his time, because that cock would split Merlin in two if Merlin gave it free reign. Or even Lance, though he seemed the sort that was just too nice and not rough enough for Merlin's taste, but Merlin supposed that if no one would volunteer to help him with his semi-permanent erection, he'd just have to make do.

Merlin pointedly did not let his cock even think about Pendragon, who was all golden and gorgeous and perfect. He was not wasting a single moment thinking about the untouchable prat who wandered around the flat naked every bloody morning, not when there was prime wank material to be found all around him.

Later, much later, when they were all splayed out around the fire, most of them already dozing off and ready to be rolled into their sleeping bags, Merlin found out just how much he was fucked when Arthur announced:

"I'm going swimming at dawn. Who wants to join me?"

No one answered him. No one even made eye contact. No one but Merlin, who was frozen where he sat on a fallen log, eyes as wide as a deer's in the headlights of an oncoming car, because he didn't know what the fuck to think, but his cock sure did.

It stood straight at attention, clicked its balls together, and saluted with a _Sir, yes, sir!_

"Right. You bloody pansies. You just stay in your rolls like the lazy arses you are," Arthur said, and that was that, as if his mates hadn't just committed treason. The conversation drifted to other, maudlin cry-in-the-beer topics, and _why the fuck was Arthur staring at Merlin like that?_

Merlin finished off his beer and went in search of a private place to toss off, but Galahad -- that was one of the other blokes who'd come along, with Geraint being the other -- took it as an invitation for company in a behind-the-tree drunk-piss match.

He came back to the frustrating sight of Elyan's hand down Percival's shorts, Elyan's tongue licking up that sculpted chest, Gwaine rubbing his crotch against Percival's palm while smothering him with a wet, sloppy kiss. When Lance and Leon heaved a tub full of cold lake water over the trio's heads, Merlin craned his neck, hoping to _fuck_ that they had a spare bucket that they'd be willing to throw over him.

No such luck.

Merlin stuck around for one more beer, wishing he hadn't left his smokes in his backpack, because he could use one now even if his fingers would be trembling from hanging too long over the precipice of so much unfulfilled sexual tension. He muttered something about "turning in", but then everyone else decided that was a good idea, and followed him into the cabin, laying out their sleeping bags wherever there was space. Some vengeful deity that Merlin must have insulted at some point in his life was laughing at Merlin now, because Arthur set out his roll next to Merlin on one side, while Percival stretched out on the other.

There was no way Merlin could turn to sleep on his side. Arthur and Percival were so close that it was inevitable that one or the other would notice Merlin's cock poking into them through two layers of sleeping bags. There was no way that he could sleep on his back, either, not with his cock ready and willing to be the centre pole for a tent big enough to shelter them all.

Merlin slept on his belly, his cock pressed painfully under his weight against the hard floor, where he ran the risk of poking a hole clean through the boards. He had no idea how he'd explain that to _anyone_.

He didn't sleep that night, and a few hours later, right when the sun looked about ready to rise, Merlin wriggled out of his sleeping bag, grabbed his pack of fags, and manoeuvred the maze of sleeping bodies to finally make it out in the cool fresh crisp of morning air and escape and _relief_. He was going to get himself off before it killed him, but he wasn't so stupid as to stay near the cabin where anyone could stumble out and find him, so he wandered all the way to the lake and nestled behind a line of trees where he pulled down his shorts and tossed himself off.

It was over with unsatisfying quickness, barely relieving the pressure, and Merlin sat there, staring at his cock as it twitched back to life with a stamina he hadn't seen since he was thirteen and _everything_ made him horny. He lit a cigarette, inhaling a steadying fill of smoke, and held it in his lungs.

He palmed himself as he exhaled in a steady swirl of curling smoke, half-heartedly pulling, urging himself to full hardness, half-heartedly pushing to stop it and considering it an exercise in futility. There were still two days into this ridiculous trip, and if it continued on like this, Merlin was likely to die from being around so many fit blokes. Or from chaffing.

Most likely from chaffing.

Morning birds sang. Frogs croaked. Fish splashed -- except that was a louder splash than a frog should be able to manage. 

Merlin glanced around the tree, through the thicket, and saw Pendragon dive off the dock into the water.

Naked.

Naked. _Oh, God._

Merlin's dick didn't need any more encouragement -- it swelled from sponge to diamond hardness in point two seconds. Merlin stared as Arthur broke the surface, as he swam away from shore in long, smooth breaststrokes. 

Merlin matched Arthur's steady glide through the water with a firm jerk of his fingers around an erection that very decidedly wanted to be somewhere else. Preferably between the cheeks of that firm, round arse, or in that mouth capable of incensing and arousing Merlin with its perfect, posh accent.

He stuck his fag in his mouth and squeezed the base of his cock to keep himself from coming too quick. He exhaled a swirling line of grey smoke. His head rolled back and struck the tree trunk with a dull thump. 

There was a splash and a startled, "Who's there?"

 _Fuck_ if Merlin's cock didn't get harder, because that was Arthur's voice, and it was close -- too close. When had he come back to shore? Had Merlin been lazily stroking himself, lost in the image of Arthur naked and wet and lost track of time? Merlin craned his neck and peeked through the trees. Arthur was out of the water, body gleaming in the morning light, and he was looking around. His arms, his legs, his arse --

 _Fuckety fuck fuck fuck_. 

"I know it's you, Merlin. You're the only one who smokes," Arthur said. "Stop being a fucking voyeur."

Merlin took a steadying drag and exhaled out in a defiant, frustrated cloud of smoke. Was he _never_ going to have those five fucking minutes of peace and quiet? Because if he didn't, there was no telling what would happen. "Fuck off, you goddamn wanker. Can't a man toss himself without getting interrupted? "

"Come out, Merlin," Arthur said. His voice was breathless, like he'd just run a marathon. Merlin peered around the tree trunk and did a double-take. Was that Arthur, stroking himself?

He might have stared a little longer than he normally would. If his brain hadn't short-circuited shortly after they'd arrived at the camp the day before, it came to a complete standstill now. It occurred to Merlin that he'd never seen the girls that Arthur had been fucking -- that maybe Arthur hadn't been fucking girls at all. He had a dim recollection of crashing shoulders with a thin, short, waiflike bloke with dark hair and blue eyes who was just leaving the flat as Merlin was arriving, but --

" _Now_ , Merlin," Arthur barked.

Merlin was slow to make the connection. Arthur fucking Pendragon, the darling of uni campus, the apple of the eye of every blonde, brunette and redhead of either sex, the captain of the championship footie team three years running, the golden child of the corporate world before he even joined the ranks of the rat race soldiers -- he fucked blokes?

More than that, he fucked blokes that looked like _Merlin_?

Merlin scrambled for footing, for something, _anything_ that made sense. He had a bloody doctorate, he should be able to figure this out. It was simple math, wasn't it --

He didn't get a chance, because his cock grew impatient and took over his body. Before he knew it, he was walking out of the woods, his dick leading the way, leaving him just enough autonomy to remember to pinch his cigarette after one last long drag and to throw it away.

"Yeah? What do you want?" Merlin didn't bother to hide himself, because, well, he'd _warned_ Arthur. And then again, Arthur was the one slowly stroking his own cock, and _fuck, but it was a bloody gorgeous sight_.

Merlin swallowed. He didn't hide that he was staring at Arthur's crotch, following the movement with his eyes.

"Get on your knees," Arthur said. 

"What?" Merlin's eyes snapped to Arthur's, and he followed where Arthur was pointing to a towel near a fallen log.

"It's not a wank that you need. It's a good hard fuck," Arthur said. "Come on. What are you waiting for? I'm not going to repeat myself."

Merlin barked a short, hoarse laugh. He took in the way Arthur's body was outlined in the early-morning dawn, his cock hard and slick, weeping cum onto his hand. Merlin's legs went weak at the sight of him and his resolve -- if there had been any to begin with -- crumbled like a wall of bricks meeting the swift kiss of a wrecking ball. "God, yes."

Merlin scrambled onto his knees, balanced on one arm, and stroked himself a few times in anticipation. He looked over his shoulder and jerked when he felt a slap on his arse.

"Don't. You're not going to come until I tell you, or you're not going to come at all," Arthur said, his voice dangerously low. His tone had every hint of the same warning that it had when Arthur had ordered Merlin to come on this trip, _or else_.

Arthur had planned this. He'd _planned it_. 

_Oh my God_. This was all a setup. All of Arthur's mates -- they'd been going out of their way to mess with Merlin's mind, hadn't they --

"Stop, or you're not getting any of this," Arthur said, and there was a slight tone of uncertainty under the pushy prat that Merlin knew he was, ordering people around and expecting to be obeyed.

And it was _such_ a turn-on. Merlin hadn't known he had a kink for being bossed around.

Still, Merlin made a soft, whimpering sound, unable to help himself. Stopping himself from bringing himself off was the worst torture _ever_ , but he was rewarded with Arthur's tongue soaking his hole, Arthur's fingers working him open, Arthur's cock against his entrance and enough spit to make it slide, but not enough slick to ease the burn.

Arthur gave him one second to get used to the girth of the cock in him before Arthur pulled out all the way and thrust all the way back in. Hard.

Merlin grabbed the fallen log for support, his fingernails scratching into the damp wood deep enough to leave marks. There was no apology from Arthur, no pause to check to see if he was okay, and that was _perfect_ because Merlin didn't want one. Didn't need one. Arthur was right. All he needed was a good, hard fuck.

He needed Arthur to give him a good, hard fuck.

The towel did nothing to protect Merlin's knees from the stony beach. The log barely braced Merlin against the flesh-slapping thrusts. His cock had flagged a bit from the first punch, but it was hard again, bobbing with every one of Arthur's direct hits on his prostate.

"Nn.. Nnrg... Ar... Arthur... I... I'm gonna --"

"Not yet," Arthur bit out.

"F.. _Fuck_." Merlin tried to think of something to distract him. The sting of the cuts and scrapes on his arms and knees. The rising sun over the horizon. The blokes in the cabin _over there_ , who could walk out any moment and see them like this.

Oh, God. All those windows in the flat and no curtain coverings, the way Arthur always walked around naked whenever he had the chance. It made sudden sense, now. Arthur really was an exhibitionist.

And, _that was so hot_.

Merlin tried to hold on, to keep himself from the crest, but there was no use. His sight went white, his hole clenched, his cock jerked and pulsed ropes and ropes of come all over the towel, and he was pretty sure that his moan could be hear all the way across the lake.

When his vision cleared, he was aware of Arthur still fucking him, hard and fast, the rhythm changed just so --

Merlin winced when Arthur pulled out. He felt Arthur's thighs against his, the pump of come smearing on his arse and the small of his back, the fingers digging into his hips.

The sharp sting of a slap on his arse chased away the last of the satisfied buzz, and Merlin would have gotten the fuck away from Arthur if Arthur hadn't wrapped his arm around Merlin's waist and pulled him flush against him.

"Eighteen fucking months." Arthur's voice was a hoarse, husky whisper against Merlin's ear. "Eighteen fucking months of you ignoring me. Never answering my phone calls. Dropping off the face of the planet. Then you called me, asking for a place to crash until you had enough cash for a flat of your own. I thought you'd finally figured it out, but for all that you're smart, you're really fucking thick, aren't you? You don't even look at me twice even when I'm giving you a bloody _engraved invitation_."

"Arthur -- what?" Merlin started to turn his head, but Arthur held him firm, his teeth nibbling little kisses along the line of his jaw.

"I'm tired of waiting, Merlin. You're not going anywhere, you hear me? I'm going to…" And _fuck_ if Arthur didn't sound wrecked right now, the words breaking as he went on, "… you're going to learn how much I want you. How much I hate that you don't see that."

Arthur's hand slid down Merlin's body, roaming possessively.

Merlin's mind reeled. Eighteen months. Where had Merlin been for the last year and a half, besides burying his head in books and locking himself in his lab and trying like Hell to make everything work so that he could graduate in record time? He couldn't have noticed Arthur if he'd tried. He'd been so lost in his own world that the most he could do pretend it was all a fantasy, making more than there really was in the way Arthur would stare at him across campus, in the cafeteria, at the shops.

"You're going to listen to me from now on, yeah? When I say I want you with me, you're going to believe me instead of being a stubborn pillock. You're going to let me have you, damn it. You're going to stop pushing me away."

Then it was Arthur doing the pushing, shoving Merlin down onto the come-covered towel and the rocky beach, turning Merlin over and pining Merlin with his weight. There was a determined glint in Arthur's eyes, a firm set of his mouth. "No one else, Merlin. Just me. Just you."

Any protest Merlin might have had -- not that he had any, though he was saving all of his complaints that Arthur could've done this a long time ago and saved them the trouble of waiting _eighteen months_ \-- were drowned in a pounding waterfall of kisses and a light rocking of bodies as they both got hard again.

What a month. What a week. What a fucking _day_. 

It was the best day of Merlin's whole goddamn life, and it was about time.


End file.
